


Afterimage

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Druid Keith (Voltron), Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, True Love, and ofc, anyway, keith throws SWORDS, not just in this fic but in canon, what a legend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 12:35:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15995342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: Sometimes, Keith sees shadows.They dance and flicker across the edges of his vision in every battle, tracing the swing of his sword and shuddering at each pound of his fists. They follow and echo him, all the while reaching for Keith with tendrils of darkness that sear and freeze his skin in equal measure, leaving him numb.The shadows see him, too.





	Afterimage

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes i forget keith canonically chucked a sword across the room like a javelin and in honor of that moment, this fic exists. also you best believe i was on the galra keith theory train way back in 2016 so it seems only right to get my ass on the druid keith theory train, late though i may be....
> 
> also i miss writing short things hahah enjoy guys~

Sometimes, Keith sees shadows.

They dance and flicker across the edges of his vision in every battle, tracing the swing of his sword and shuddering at each pound of his fists. They follow and echo him, all the while reaching for Keith with tendrils of darkness that sear and freeze his skin in equal measure, leaving him numb.

The shadows see him, too. They call out to him, in voices only Keith can hear, in a language he does not know, one not meant for human ears. The sound reminds Keith of the sea; a powerful rush of white noise like crashing surf, or radio static, or muffled cries. The first time, it was soft. Now, it is nearly deafening, and it’s all Keith can do to grit his teeth and cleave the Galra sentry in two while their grasping hands brush uselessly against his armor. It’s almost like they’re trying to lead him somewhere, but don’t have the strength to take him there.

The shadows first appeared upon his return from the Quantum Abyss, but the longer Keith feels them, tugging and crying, the more he wonders if they hadn’t been with him all along.

As the dust settles, Kosmo presses his wet nose into Keith’s palm and whimpers. Keith sits on a smoldering crate, wiping ash off his sword, waiting as the shadows recede with a palpable reluctance. “Do you see them too, buddy?” Keith murmurs. The space wolf whines, and lays his heavy head upon Keith’s thigh. Keith studies him. “Hey,” he says slowly, “where do you go when you disappear? How does that work?”

Kosmo blinks and licks his wrist.

“Nanoparticles, probably.” Shiro sits down on the equally burnt crate beside him, smile lopsided. “Breaks every rule of quantum mechanics, but hey. You pilot a mecha made of giant robot lion ships. Anything’s possible.”

Keith snorts, running his fingers through Kosmo’s blue fur. “What if it’s magic?”

Shiro’s eyebrows go up. “Magic? Now, that’s a word I haven’t heard in awhile. Never thought I’d hear it from you.”

Keith frowns and glances up at him. Shiro’s face is dirtied from the fight, and there’s a smear of drying blood high on his left cheekbone. Keith reaches up to wipe it away without a thought, and Shiro catches his wrist, cheeks pink. There’s a long moment where they just stare at each other.

This is new for both of them. Time passes strangely in space, and though sometimes Keith feels like he’s had Shiro for years, it only takes a single moment like this one to remind him that Shiro has been out of Keith’s orbit far longer than he’s been in it. What he has here is not something to be taken for granted. More than once, Keith has found himself expecting it to end, expecting Shiro to realize he made a mistake, and walk away. He hasn’t, so far. Keith will take what he can, while he can. He leans in, letting his lips part and his eyes fall half-lidded, a silent invitation.

But Shiro clears his throat and subtly jerks his head towards the others, standing a few meters away.

They aren’t watching, but Keith gets the message – Shiro doesn’t want them to see. His hand falls limply into his lap.

Shiro makes a quiet sound, eyes shining with unspoken apology. Things are complicated enough as it is; war is not the time to put their relationship, their vulnerabilities, on display. Keith understands, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Keith draws back, composing himself. “You don’t believe in magic?”

Shiro gazes at him, steady and without judgment. “You do?”

Keith shakes his head. “Maybe not everything can be explained with science. That’s all.”

“Like what?”

 _You,_ he doesn’t say. The shadows return, quieter than before, and Kosmo’s ears flick back. “The astral plane,” Keith suggests. “The Black Lion’s consciousness kept you alive there. Don’t you think that’s a little magical?”

Shiro looks uncomfortable. “Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know. That begs the question of whether or not quintessence is magic.”

“You saw what happened on the Balmera,” Keith murmurs. “Did that look like science to you?”

Shiro’s body leans inwards, his proximity betraying his genuine worry. “Is everything okay, Keith? Did something happen?”

Keith shakes his head, the pit in his stomach growing. “Not yet,” he says.

*

Something happens in the ruins.

Keith stares at his fallen blade, chest heaving, eyes burning with the brilliant afterimage of the druid’s death.

For the first time, the shadows are silent. They retreat as the other paladins come to. _None of them saw,_ Keith thinks, a numbness settling in to his chest. _None of them saw Macidus’s shadow_.

And none of them heard the shadows say, _Keith._

There is no time to talk about it. Not when Kolivan is on the verge of death, and dozens of other Blades have been murdered at a rogue druid’s hand. And he cannot tell Krolia, not when she is leaving, not when she might never come back. He doesn’t want their last conversation to be about her her only child is losing his mind...or worse. Keith doesn’t want to think about the alternative, even as he knows it, even as the shadows whisper his name like a lover’s.

He doesn’t tell anyone.

*

One would think they would have learned by now that most “abandoned” bases are traps, but apparently not.

As he watches the assassin’s curved sword cleave through the back of Shiro’s armor and straight out of his chest, Keith thinks this is a truly stupid way to lose the greatest man Keith has ever known. Shiro’s expression haunts him. Surprise and fear etch themselves into every line of his face in slow motion. Across the room, Allura makes a terrible sound, a scream of raw grief ripped from her throat.

Or maybe that’s him.

 _No,_ the shadows whisper, and everything rewinds.

Keith sees Shiro’s shadow, blade through its chest, collapsing to the ground three feet in front of him. He sees the shadow of the striking assassin. There is nothing else worth seeing, and for a moment, Keith is blind, as blind as Macidus. The shadows are bright white imprints, seared into his mind like the druid’s lightning in his palm.

“Shiro, get down!” Keith yells, and throws his sword like a javelin into the assassin’s head as Shiro falls to his knees instantly. The impact sends it flying backwards, smashing into the end of the hallway and crumpling in a lifeless heap.

 _“Holy shit,”_ Lance says.

Shiro stares at him, stumbling to his feet. “Keith?” His voice is very small.

Keith is running to him. He throws his arms around Shiro’s body, needing to know, to _feel,_ that what he saw was a future that never came to pass. Keith searches blindly along his bowing spine, sighing when he ensures Shiro’s armor is unbroken. Someone coughs. Keith doesn’t care, and maybe Shiro doesn’t either, because he holds Keith, too, leaning his head into Keith’s shoulder. “Hey,” he whispers. “Hey, I’m right here.”

 _But you weren’t,_ Keith doesn’t say. _It killed you._

“Be careful next time,” Keith whispers back, and steps away.

*

Shiro finds him in his room in the Black Lion. It’s little more than a repurposed cargo hold, but it serves its purpose well enough. Keith would have never had a room if Shiro hadn’t insisted on it. _Keith, you can’t sleep in the cockpit every time. Or ever, really._

“You asked me about magic, once,” Shiro says, sitting beside him on his bed.

Keith fights the urge to hide. This is worse than his mother knowing. His mother, at least, might understand. But Shiro…

“I was wrong,” Keith says. “It wasn’t magic.”

The shadows whisper their dissent. Keith pushes them away. They obey him. He hates that more than if they’d stayed. He doesn’t want their power.

Shiro takes his hand, the same hand Macidus tainted – or maybe it was within him from the start – and says, “I _felt_ that blade, Keith. I felt it pierce through my heart, like a phantom pain. And then...nothing.”

Keith’s hand trembles and Shiro squeezes it. “I saw it,” Keith admits. “I saw you die, Shiro.”

“And you stopped it,” Shiro breathes. “It was impossible, Keith. No one could have seen the assassin coming. But _you_ did. Just like with Macidus.” Keith turns away, jaw tight. “It _is_ magic, isn’t it, Keith? Was that what you meant, when you were saying…”

“Shiro,” he says, hating how his voice breaks, “I think I’m one of them.”

Shiro releases his hand to touch his jaw, light and tentative. “One of who, Keith?”

“They hurt you,” Keith whispers, turning to look at Shiro though he thinks Shiro’s horror and loathing will surely kill him. “I don’t want to hurt you like they did, Shiro.”

Shiro’s eyes widen in shocked epiphany. Keith closes his eyes with a wince. Shiro is quiet.

Then he says, “A druid. You’re a druid.”

Keith puts his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

“What – hey, no,” Shiro says, and for some damn reason Keith cannot possibly fathom, he shifts closer, wrapping his arm around Keith’s trembling shoulders. “Keith, this isn’t your fault, I’m not – did you think I would be upset?”

If Keith were younger, he might have tried to shrug Shiro off, to run away rather than face his disappointment. As is it, he can only curl in on himself and pray Shiro comes to his senses. “You should be,” he says. “First half Galra, now this, I…”

“Keith, you saved my life. Not just this time.” Shiro’s fingers settle into Keith’s hair where it curls at the nape of his neck and Keith wants to cry. “You’re still you, still Keith, and I still love you. Galra, druid, paladin, whatever – I mean, come on. You had to deal with my clone almost killing you _and_ a bodyswap with said clone.”

Keith’s laugh is choked. He peeks at Shiro through his fingers. “You know I’m over that,” he mumbles. Keith blushes. “Besides, I...I like your body, no matter what.”

Shiro shakes his head in disbelief, smiling. “See? This is what I mean. Why are you allowed to beat yourself up while I get a free pass?” He leans in, brows drawing together, and touches the faded scar over Keith’s jaw carefully. “For the record, I do still beat myself up for what happened, Keith.”

“But that wasn’t you –”

“Exactly,” Shiro says, his eyes soft. “You’re right, Keith. Haggar’s druids did terrible things to me, with terrible magic. But that wasn’t you. It _isn’t_ you. Even if you have their magic, you choose what you do with it. And you chose, Keith. You saved me with that magic. There’s nothing evil or wrong about that. Or about you.”

Keith looks at him, and feels as helpless as he always does in the face of Shiro’s love.

“It felt right, saving you,” he whispers, and doesn’t shy away from Shiro’s answering embrace, nor the gentle kiss that follows, aching with a longing for each other than transcends any other magic Keith has ever felt.


End file.
